


Bad Habits

by HaephestusCrex



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Abuse, Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempted Seduction, Daddy Issues, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Erwin is Dads Hot Friend, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, HEAVY trashbaby flirting with erwin in this, Modern AU, Modern Era, Modern Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan, Moral Ambiguity, Multi, Musicians, Other, Past Abuse, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Seduction, Sexual Tension, Too many tags for the mature themes just go in assuming every trigger ok, YOU KNOW WHAT YOU CAME FOR, eboys everywhere, fuck boys everywhere too, problematic af, this is gonna b the trashiest shit ive ever written
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:02:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29410212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaephestusCrex/pseuds/HaephestusCrex
Summary: {F!Reader-Insert] - In which you, a freelance sound  tech, after a series of unwise choices and questionable behaviour are forced to move back in with your adoptive family and are desperately trying to prove your worth in a world that doesn't care to listen.It turns out, your father's hot accountant friend just might, and you pull them into a world of stardom, dysfunction, intent on pushing every button he has."You're the best, Mister S," you smirk, leaving a dark smear of lipstick on Erwin's cheek one too many times.You always want what you can't have, but God, you're the most determined woman he's ever met, and he's not sure how much longer he can hold out.
Relationships: Erwin Smith/Reader, Erwin Smith/You, Erwin/Reader, Erwin/You
Comments: 7
Kudos: 49





	1. The First Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> [[[///crap summary will prob be rewritten but yeah you get it this is gonna be hot garbage with lots of family dysfunction and saviour-daddy-erwin because fucking SUE ME OKAY I wanted to write a modern AU so bad. Forbidden fruit lovers where u @? Thottery abounds. Look forward to it. It's only very vaguely a songfic I guess? Don't let that put you off.... we'e going hard on the Dad's Hot Friend/saviour daddy angle. mmm. R&R plx]]]]

_Chapter One_

**The First Encounter**

Nile and Marie Dok are about as consistent and reliable as a married couple get. With a modest four bedroom home dropped in the middle of gated suburbia. Nothing terribly out of the norm happens in places like these, and it provides Nile with a much needed break from the sorts of situations his work in the police would entrench him in. In fact, the most harmful presence in the general neighbourhood is probably just bored, but incredibly well-meaning housewives trying to peddle multi-level marketing products as a way to fill their days. Marie is one of few who could be considered a career woman, and works part time as a receptionist at a small private dental facility, and manages the household around the three kids.

All in all, Nile had what a lot of people might consider a charmed life, even with the stress of his job, they made a healthy amount per year, and Erwin was pleasantly surprised to find he’d wanted personal financial advice of the firm he worked for. Even with all of the time that had passed between the two men, and Erwin only recently coming back to the city, it was all too natural to simply pick up where they last left off.

“I’ll get it done through referral - so it’ll be significantly cheaper through us anyway, but legal will ensure that the wording of the trusts are watertight. You’ll get an email with more details and we’ll go from there,” Erwin folds his laptop screen shut, reaching for his mug of coffee. Both men were at at Nile’s dining table, discussing the family accounts. Recently, the central offices of Montgomery & Morris Accounting moved to central Mitras, and not wanting to particularly pass up on career prospects from those unwilling to transfer, by staying put as well, a move was the logical next step.

All in all, it was a pleasant surprise for Nile to see his childhood friend doing so well, especially after putting so much to the wayside to focus on his studies. A short phone conversation with the man, after his move to the city was enough to get Nile proactive when it came to the kids. Setting up a trustfund felt like a smart decision, especially with some of the close shaves Nile has had in his career, and it didn’t take much convincing on Erwin’s part. He’s always looking to increase his portfolio, and with all of his business-to-business work, a little part of him has missed the simpler days of being a personal advisor.

“Thank you for doing this, it’ll put Marie’s mind at ease, I think,” Nile says, pausing when he hears a tell-tale rumbling around them..

“I thought the kids were at school?” said Erwin, putting his mug down as Nile lets out a short sigh, glancing at the clock at the wall.

“They are,” Nile replied shortly, “-that’s the eldest,” his tone takes on a bitter sort of edge, not one that is inherently abrasive, but tired sounding, certainly - like the mere mention of the eldest did nothing but induce sighs and headaches.

“I don’t think you met,” he says, reclining back a bit “-I took her in some time after you moved,” - ah, it clicks with the blond now. He has briefly met Nile’s children at some point or another, mostly he’s familiar with a few of the photos trickling in over his sparse use of social media. They’re a perfect family on the face of it, and Nile is incredibly proud of them, never failing to show it at every opportunity - so his tone towards his eldest surprised him.

He knew a little of the story, of course - it was prior to Nile’s ascension from a standard constable to a sergeant, on one of his call outs to a typical problem area of the city. He was always sparse on the details, but Erwin’s understanding is, there was a young girl - a teenager at the time, tied up in a catastrophic incident. Fire services were called, as were ambulances - and Nile knew, right then and there - that he couldn’t just _leave you_ in the system. The deeper he dug his heels in, the less inclined he, and upon discussing with his wife, Marie, were unable to simply leave the girl behind.

There’s not a lot of photos including them, though, so Erwin in truth didn’t know much apart from little comments or hearsay. He has, however, endured a fair amount of Nile’s complaining since getting back into regular contact with the man.

_Disrespectful disposition, unruly, comes in at all hours, drinks too much, never picks up her damn phone--_

To be honest, it wasn’t the best impression to get, so Erwin wasn’t sure what to expect when the door to the kitchen-diner swings open. It’s quite late in the afternoon - around 1:00pm, and you hadn’t emerged all day, which is quite typical of when you’re home. Usually you have the place to yourself until Marie and the kids get back, but Nile has sporadic days off from time to time, and this is one of them. So, you’re surprised that not only is he home, but that he has company. To be fair, you were probably told at some point in the week, but you’d barely had the presence of mind to keep track.

Nile has accused you of using the place like a hotel, and that wasn’t totally inaccurate - as bar sleeping, you’re almost never there if you can help it. Clearly, you didn’t expect company, and it shows on your face, as you don’t fully register their presence until you sauntered into the room.

“Out of your grave today?” there’s an underlying tone of snark in Nile’s tone, but it’s a casual, genuinely surprised question, more than a sharp criticism.

You break stride midway and look over at the dining table, before continuing to walk towards the coffee pot, rolling your eyes. 

“I’m still on Portugal time alright?” you’re still tired, and to tell the truth, all of the sudden and extreme changes to your body clock and overall schedule hadn’t settled well with you, and you’d only been back at the house for a week, so it wasn’t the strongest excuse, but you’d been to a lot of places in a short amount of time. Nobody’s body clock is going to feel good about it, especially the older you get, but you’re too tired to argue the point.

“Whatever, just let me at that coffee,” - reaching for a large mug, you pour some down and hear NIle sigh, and murmur something just low enough for you to miss.

You wipe out some of the backed up mascara in your eyes - waterproof is a bitch to wash out - and reach towards what’s left in the coffee pot, before blinking and looking back over your shoulder again.

It clicks now that there’s a second person in the dining room, and you turn around, back leaning against the counter. Taking a long, deep sip and peering over your mug as casually as you could, you hear Nile introducing you and grimace into the cup.

“Yeah, no one calls me that,” you say dryly, eyes wandering across the table to the stranger in the room. Sticking out even more against Nile’s casual button down and trousers is a broad-shouldered, well built sort of man, the sort you imagine takes up a doorway easily and every inch of it is toned muscle and height, filling out a formal navy suit easily. He has sharp features, with high cheekbones and piercingly blue eyes, with a classically neat, lightly gelled blond haircut. He radiated a sense of quiet classiness, and kept a neutral expression as he looked over you.

_‘Well, hello Fifty Shades of Fine,’_ you muse, he’s probably Nile’s age - but it didn’t show, and was more put together than some of Nile’s police friends, not that he had those sorts around really.

“This is an old friend, he’s helping us balance our books a bit,” Nile explains shortly, though the blond seems to not be effected by the change in atmosphere. You could tell that your father was hoping you weren’t going to say anything typically curse-laden or otherwise impolitely blunt, just from the _don’t-you-dare_ look on his face. You’re making no secret of the fact you’re eyeing the man up curiously, you’re certain that you’ve never met this man, a guy like that - you’d _remember -_ that much is a certainty.

You’re almost a little self conscious of the unbrushed, shaggy nature of your hair, and the beaten up pair of garishly bright pink ankle boots and ratty, baggy, high-waists you’d stumbled down in. The moment you’d entered the room, your appearance felt like it was breaking up the peaceful and put-together atmosphere of Nile’s post-modern home, invading with your over-washed crop hoodie where half the ironed-on words on it were peeling off. Nile is, thankfully, going through some paperwork idly - related to the work he was discussing earlier, and is blissfully unaware of your roving, appreciative gaze in the blond’s direction.

“I’m Erwin Smith - it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he doesn’t visibly react to the fact he’s being checked out, though is a little bemused by it. At least, that’s one possibility - you could just be one of those overly attentive types, who soak in every little detail. He introduces himself as someone working for Montgomery & Morris Accounting, and all in all radiates the air of somebody who has their life together.

“Ah, just call me Saf,” you say, shortly, lips twitching into a grim little smile “-local drop out, at your service,” - earning a frown from Nile as you cheerfully finish your coffee and throw the mug loosely into the sink.

Oblivious to the tension that followed, or perhaps not caring, you look over to Nile, otherwise unphased by his annoyed expression. He’s the sort that prefers not to be embarrassed by the actions of others, and tends to be utterly anal-retentive about manners. Truthfully, you always found it just slightly more overboard than necessary - as most people, you found, could appreciate some informality from time to time.

Well, that and you’re just not the best with authority, but that’s neither here nor there.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt your - “ you gesture vaguely towards the closed laptop and what appeared to be important documents that the men were shuffling through “-grown up shit,” - which earns a short, derisive snort from Nile.

“Despite popular belief, you too, are in fact, an adult,” he says, with unamused deadpan while you roll your eyes. Everything about you radiates a lack of seriousness, right down to to the pink, chipped varnish on your nails, muddy matching boots and licks of dark, black tattoo ink against your stomach when you arc backwards to stretch out some pleasurable clicks from your spine and shoulders. Just looking at you, Erwin would say you’re antithetical to everything he knows about Nile Dok - and not just because you don’t share a singular feature with him or Marie.

“Just about, I guess I pay taxes and work so that probably counts for something,” - you ignore Nile’s shift in expression when you mention work, and place your hands flat on the dining table, leaning in his direction, easily brushing Erwin’s presence aside like it doesn’t bother you, nor do you feel any pressure to behave differently just because he’s there. It’s jarring, if not a little refreshing, though it’s difficult for the blond to quantify some of the casual, blatant, roving glances you throw his way.

“Which - by the way - I kinda need to get to work? Since you’re off today and all….” you trail off, and Nile cuts you down immediately, with such an abruptness that even Erwin is a little surprised, as he’s certain he’s never seen Nile use this tone with his family before, at least, not near him.

“You’re not taking my car,” he says, mistrust in his words as you emit a put-out sigh.

“ _C’monnnn!_ Shitbox finally kicked the bucket and it’s kinda too late for me to bum a ride and not be massively late, Danny lives across town,” - the mere mention of this _Danny_ character was enough for Nile to pull a visible face.

He isn’t fond of the people you work with, but he finds Danny to be particularly irksome with the way he stares after you, or makes lewd comments within earshot with no respect for his family. property or presence.

“Well, you should have gotten a better car then,” said Nile tartly “-the phrase ‘looking a gift horse in the mouth’ comes to mind,” - he turns to Erwin, latently realising he’s not included in the conversation and turns to him.”-She refused to let me co-sign on a decent vehicle, or help her towards the deposit and insisted on driving a death trap.”

“Don’t talk about Shitbox that way! She had character!” with an indignant huff, you then pout - because it’s really quite unfair, he can’t disagree with how you get to work and then refuse to help even slightly, right? “-and she survived a good while considering the state I got her in. Anyway, can you drop me off? Even just in the centre? There’s only one bus per hour today,” - the look, didn’t seem to be working, because Nile shakes his head negatively.

“You should have gotten up earlier then, I’m picking the other kids up soon, Marie’s going to Preston’s recital,” he points out, and glances at the wall clock.

Typical.

“I don’t have regular shifts, freelance, remember? I only found out they want me in studio a half hour ago, cut me a break,” yes, it distinctly sounds like a whine now, and Nile is about to suggest a taxi service - which is going to be quite expensive, until Erwin clears his throat. The conversation was very quickly devolving into bickering, but the solution was simple enough. Granted, he isn’t familiar with you, but he and Erwin go back a significant while, they even graduated the same academy back in the day.

“Can I make a suggestion?” there’s a thin trace of amusement in his voice, if only because you seemed to bring out a childishness in Nile that the blond hadn’t seen in a very long time. He turns his sapphire gaze over to you, and then back to his friend.

“Now that we’re all finished up here, I need to drive back. I can certainly drop you in the city centre at least, I pass through that way anyway,” it’s not an ideal route, certainly, and not one he usually takes, because the traffic can be awful, but he has nowhere to be in particular, and you can get out and start walking if need be.

“You don’t mind?” Nile’s voice is laden with relief, because he knows how much taxis cost and he’s of the opinion that you likely flushed away a lot of your money - which…wasn’t _incorrect_ per se. Unlike Danny, the officer can actually trust Erwin, even with so much time passing between them both, and just looks grateful. You glance at the blond - a little surprised, but also visibly relieved, and none too concerned.

Worryingly, you seem to be quite at peace with getting into random men’s cars - but you suppose, the key difference is here, is both your sobriety, and the fact that this guy is _Nile Dok approved._

“Not at all,” Erwin is something of a gentleman, and generally the sort of man whose a bit of a fixer. If there is a problem in his vicinity, he feels almost compelled towards a solution. It’s why he does so well in business fields, like accounting - his personality lends him towards meticulousness, hard work, and being solution-oriented. You, however, are surprised by the man’s easy kindness, and flick your tongue across your teeth like you’re sizing him up for a moment, until your black-stained lips part into a cheeky grin.

“Seriously? Thanks, Mister S,” - knowing how your informality gets under Nile’s skin, you casually ignore the twitch in his face when you say that, and turn towards the door. “I’ll be two minutes okay? I gotta go grab my bag,” - to which Erwin nods, and Nile lets out an exhausted sigh as you flounce out of the room with as much attitude as you’d entered it.

Erwin doesn’t seem bothered by how you presented, though Nile knows the man is polite and not one to talk ill of people unless it was strictly necessary for whatever reason. Nile lays back on the diner chair, before giving his friend an awkward grimace.

“Sorry about her - she’s---” he trails off, he’s uncertain why he feels compelled to apologise, you weren’t particularly rude but, you had barrelled into their peaceful meeting and instantly started bickering, regardless of current company. “She just needs a little help getting back on her feet, and I don’t always have time,” he admits, before rummaging around his pocket for his own car keys, as he does, in fact, have to pick up two of his kids from school, because they’ve got too much homework to hang around for their sibling’s recital.

“You have other children, younger - they’ll need more attention,” Erwin says shortly, but understandingly “-and this is no bother,” because in truth, it makes no difference to him - he had booked today off of work anyway.

Nile’s words have left him a little curious though, he wonders why, briefly - if you’re employed, why you’re back at the Dok family home, as he’s certain it was mentioned that you moved out - unless he’d imagined that….? He doesn’t pay too much attention to social media outside of his business LinkUp account, so in truth, there isn’t any context really, but before he can ask, you’re already back in the room, sporting a large black gym bag with a few cables sticking out of its improperly zipped front.

“Ready!” you flash another all-teeth smile, and the words die in Erwin’s throat - the last thing he needs is to sit through another round of bickering just because he’s curious. Notably, even though you’re going to some sort of job, you don’t make any effort for more formal attire, keeping the cropped hoodie and peeling text, so he has to wonder what sort of job you even have. The pair of you bid goodbyes, all of you heading to your respective vehicles.

Nile peels out of the driveway first, causing the air to settle to one of slightly stilted oddness as the pair of you looked at each other briefly. It doesn’t last for long, though, and the blond quickly leads you to a sleek, black newer model of Mazda - it’s typically sensible, but a good, reliable car that doesn’t look a day old. Huh. For an accountant whose suit looked pretty nice, you kind of expected a fancier vehicle, but considering your own was a dead, second-hand, paint-scratched Fiat Panda that looked like it had seen better days. On instinct, you get in the front seat beside the driver, and strap in with your bag on your feet, giving the man a thankful look.

“Thanks for this, again, you’re a babe,” you beam, while Erwin slowly backs out, and simply says not to worry about it. He doesn’t react to your affectionate gratitude, but unwilling to sit in awkward silence, he decides to bite the bullet and ask you a few questions. He’d missed out on a lot of Nile’s life, and the pair of them don’t really sit around and reminisce too much - their friendship was always a more in-the-moment sort of thing, and so, while he has some pieces, he doesn’t have much. Marie was always more talkative in that respect, but he hasn’t had much time to catch up with her.

“So,” Erwin doesn’t break away from staring out ahead, even though he can feel your deeply examining gaze roving down his face curiously. “You’re freelance, then?” - he takes a less intrusive approach, rather than bluntly questioning you outright, he proves he was paying keen attention to what was happening in the dining room, and decides to open with that instead.

“Yeah,” you’re not _good_ at small talk, but the older man makes a point to sound at least a little interested, so the urge to slip your phone out and begin fiddling on it is swatted away for the moment being. “I’m a freelance sound technician,” - wondering if the man had a vague idea of what that would even entail. Nile doesn’t really, and just writes it off as something a little too digital than he can understand, involving computers and fiddling with sliders and buttons.

Which, whilst not exactly wrong, made talking or trying to get Nile to understand the nature of your work to be far more complex than just what any handyman could do, nigh impossible. There’s a reason you had to get an apprenticeship before you could be considered qualified, it was hard work. Some learned on the job, like you, some took college courses that did their best to replicate an actual studio and provide realistic work tasks, some people even went to university for it. You, being a drop out, were thankful enough for the apprenticeship, but for the longest of time, Nile wrote it off as little more than grunt work, as apprentices didn’t earn much at all.

Frankly, Nile had no idea what you earned as a fully fledged technician, but he hadn’t really asked, and as far as you were aware, might not even know you’ve fully qualified. Everything about you was in his periphery, from little things he’d absorbed here and there, the rest of it comes from what he sees on the outside. That isn’t to say his heart isn’t in the right place, he probably wouldn’t get as agitated and put-out by you if he didn’t at least care, but the open-ended conversation with Mr Smith was allowing you to actually talk about it....? It felt a little strange, to be honest, and for a moment you wondered if it was just performative interest to fill the silence. Marie would, of course, occasionally enquire, but she’s one of the busiest women you knew, and you couldn’t begrudge her with how demanding your step-siblings were. So, for a moment, you don’t follow up with anything, but Mr Smith easily picks up where you left off, apparently not bothered by your hesitant awkwardness.

“That sounds interesting, what sort of thing do you do at your job then?” he had a vague understanding of a rock and roll roadie, but he got the sense that was probably not accurate to whatever you did. In truth, Nile’s lack of understanding reflected in whatever the blond knew about you, so all he really knows is that you’re a flighty sort, phasing in and out of the Dok household when it suits you like a passing storm.

“Ah, you know, just mixing stuff for people who want to record something, editing, a lot of mastering or setting up gear, maintaining it, some of people want advice, others just want the sound monkey to do whatever,” you snort, with no real resentment in your tone. It had been a valuable learning experience if nothing else, but trying to explain it to someone in Nile’s age group gave off the impression that you probably wouldn’t be able to explain it very well. “The studio is open twenty four hours so I get weird hours,” you shrug.

It feels strange discussing this with an outsider, especially your dads friend, but he nods understandingly, not taking his eyes off of the road. You’re not sure where to go from there, and scratch the back of your neck awkwardly, glancing outside of the front passenger side window instead.

“Interesting,” - it clicks with him now, this is the sort of thing he knows that Nile wouldn’t like, he’s notoriously inflexible, and has very rigid ideas about what he considers traditionally acceptable. He’s more of a - work a nine to five, have a government benefits package and a 401k sort of man, which Erwin can relate to at least a little, but he can at least understand that employment can look like many things. Especially in his line of work, after having advised small businesses and freelancers in the past. It’s little wonder that Nile didn’t feel you getting to work was particularly important, as he’d probably rather have you do _anything_ else as long as it was consistent.

“Where am I dropping you by the way? We’re heading into the city centre but there’s a bit of a traffic pile up ahead,” as the car slows a bit, he looks over at you, and you quickly pull out your phone and switching on the GPS just to see how far the walking distance is. True to word, there’s a large red line indicating a pile up on the roads leading in.

“I don’t wanna be cheeky Mister S, but - “ you turn on the audio for your GPS and flash him a wonky smile “-I don’t work dead in the centre anyway, you can just avoid the traffic and drop me right by the studio if that’s okay.” 

“Lead the way,” he says after the GPS declares just how close Envision Studios is, and begins announcing an alternate route away from the traffic. It’s a shorter route, though there is a little delay, it’s not nearly as bad as taking the main road in, and truthfully, he really doesn’t mind. He’s a little intrigued to be honest, he knows about Nile’s biological children, but you were always on the outside of everything, and he only ever heard bits and pieces of the man’s frustration whenever you’d get under his skin. In fact, Erwin was almost certain that he’d thought you’d moved out a while ago - he thinks he may have seen a mention of it on social media somewhere at some point.

“Ah, Envision Studios? I think I remember Nile mentioning it once,” he’s just being nosy now, he realises, but he thinks he might not have many chances or reasons to talk to you, so he may as well sate his curiosity. “-and that you moved out? I’m sorry if I’m being rude,” he adds as an after thought “-you don’t have to answer that,” - you don’t seem offended though, and are more surprised about how polite he’s being over it. Most people, especially his age, lob that question in a quite accusatory fashion, as if going back to one’s childhood home in hard times mean you’re inherently a failure. Times had changed to a point where most people need additional support and take longer to move out, or may need to come back if circumstances change, because being independent now compared to when Nile and Erwin were younger is much, much harder for a multitude of reasons.

“Oh, uh,” you cleared your throat a bit, not looking at the man and idly playing with an end of your hair. While you don’t think it’s particularly bad for people to need to move back home, in fairness, you would have to agree that there is no one to blame but yourself, and grimace visibly.

Still, not being one to lie about yourself, regardless of the inherent embarrassment of admitting you’re an overall fuck up, you sigh, and answer him without looking in his direction.

“I um, I might have forgotten to pay my rent,” you can’t even stop yourself from cringing when you say it. You may as well tattoo - _stupid brat -_ right on your own forehead, and feel heat creeping up your neck to your cheeks, and quickly try to reduce how utterly _awful_ you’d manage to make yourself appear.

“In my defence! Okay, I landed a really good gig doing setups for _WipeOut!_ Tour, which is one of the biggest music tours around. I’d have been **_**stupid**_** not to take it. It was good money and a lot of travel and I kinda didn’t think I’d, y’know….” you trail off, and feel an awkward air settle in the car. There’s no way of digging out of the fact you sound like a complete idiot for not paying your rent on your old apartment, but the honest answer is incredibly raw and unfiltered, much like your attitude in general - but you’re not sure your dad’s friend would be receptive to it.

“Come back,” _there,_ you’d said it - and let the implication of the statement hang for a while, before Mr Smith glances briefly at you once traffic slows again, cogs turning behind his eyes like he’s trying to read in a little more into what you’d said. You’re not really used to that being the reaction, though, and shift a little in the car seat, feeling the weight of his casually severe gaze.

“I dunno if dad told you or whatever, but we had a really gross fight before I left. I finished my apprenticeship at the studio and went to a massive party to celebrate- and - “ you falter - and wonder for a moment _why_ you’re telling him all of this. The words just seem to pour out, simply because the man had asked a few open ended questions and made out like he cared to hear the answer, but even for someone as utterly raw and visceral as you, you felt like you were blabbing too much.

“-well, yeah, my dad looks like he’s fun at parties, right? Anyways,” you gloss over it sloppily, Erwin notices, but it isn’t his right to pry any more than he has, “-Gross fight. Booked one ways in Europe and then the money just… yeah I dunno, it went in and went out live-for-the-moment style. The only reason I even came back is ‘cos one of my _flunky friends,”_ you even do it with some awful sarcastic hand quotations as you reference Nile’s harsher words “-convinced me to. Believe me, I didn’t wanna come back and have to live in my old man’s basement like an unwanted Christmas decoration but here we are,” you finish, dryly.

Your bedroom had immediately been given to _Perfect Preston_ the moment you’d initially moved out, so it’s no surprise, but it was jarring, and a bit sad to see all of your things boxed up in the basement. You know in your heart that it’s the natural order of things, when you reach majority and move out of the home, it isn’t fair to expect your room to remain, but it still hurt, regardless - because you’re not sure if the Dok family would do that for their biological kids when they eventually grow up and move, but that’s just an assumption you cant substantiate.

Erwin doesn’t say anything right away, and slowly pulls up in front of the studio, with some time to spare, surprisingly. You hoist your bag strap up onto your shoulder in preparation, and pull a grim little expression, guilty almost, for the bluntness you’d shovelled in the man’s direction in response to innocently curious questions. He probably regrets asking, you think, but his expression is unreadable, and despite being a fancy accountant, doesn’t appear to be visibly showing judgement over your extremely poor choices.

Strangely, the blond seems more preoccupied by your last statement, the words _unwanted Christmas decoration_ hanging over him uncomfortably. As strict and no-nonsense as he knows his old friend to be, he’s certain that whatever complex, and probably dysfunctional mess is going on privately, that Nile certainly wouldn’t _want_ you to think like that about yourself, right? Still, it doesn’t quite feel like his place to comment on such things, and so he is left in the tricky position of wanting to address it anyway, but being unable to do so.

So, he just stares after you for a moment, his expression still unreadable.

“You can still get back on your feet,” he doesn’t say _you will,_ or go out of his place to say something more involved than he actually is, for fear of being inappropriate, but this seems safe - and with not too long before you have to get out of his car, he knows he had to say _something_. “I’ve known your father a very long time,” he adds hesitantly.

“And he doesn’t always mean to come off the way that he does. I don’t know what happened between you two, but he is one of my oldest friends,” - he has his faults, and he acknowledges it as respectfully as he can, because truth be told, he can’t _not_ say anything. The way your eyes look at him expectantly, searching for some sign of rebuke or judgement - he had to make some sort of comment, especially after he’d pried the information from you. “-and that’s how I know that the things he says…. aren’t necessarily the things he means - I know he was intensely relieved when you were back in the country, he called me and said as much, so he can’t be too unhappy to have you back,” - that’s as much as Erwin can confidently say, and already feels he’s said too much.

You look a little surprised at this, because in truth, you thought he mostly complained about you in any of his phone calls to his friends - you’d overheard snippets of that recently. So, you look away from his friend, feeling awkward, but not unpleasantly so.

“Funny way of showing it, but thanks for trying to make me feel better Mister S,” normally you’d feel instinctively annoyed at anybody, especially someone uninvolved, defending or making excuses for your father. The gentle acknowledgement, even if he didn’t say it very bluntly, that he could be very off the mark, albeit unintentionally, was still more than you got off of most of his peers. The accountant then feels something very warm seep through to his shoulder, and realises you’ve casually reached across and put a hand on his shoulder.

_He seems kinda alright for one of dads friends -_ you muse, outside of just god-awfully attractive. The man appeared genuine, and so you leave him with a gentle squeeze and a wonky sort of smile, eyes glimmering with something playful, draining the tension out of the Mazda with sudden ease.

“And thanks again for the ride, you’re a lifesaver,” squeezing again before letting go, you hock the bag of cables and ambiguous tech onto your shoulder, and step out of his car, leaving in a faint plume of raspberry body spray and a breathless, cheerful goodbye in a flounce of bouncing hair and a mindless blown kiss where your eyes don’t linger on the car. You’ve easily slipped back into old, familiar patterns, and head directly into the studio, pulling a lanyard out from your cleavage and letting yourself in without a second thought.

You have a life to try and fall back into after months of unbridled chaos with the only solidified parts of your schedule being the set lists for the tour. No two days were ever the same, and the promise of something new, a new place, new people - it kept you overstimulated to the point your senses couldn’t linger on anything else.

That was the thrill, so going back to mixing garbage for lacklustre talent, at least, in your eyes, felt a little jarring. The only comfort you had was that whilst on the WipeOut! Tour you were able to make some industry connections backstage. You hadn’t been able to get nearer the biggest names on the set list, but you’d gotten downright entrenched in some of the more peripheral performers. Specifically Dylan Asher - who goes mostly by Asher, or just Ash - these days.

He’s one of those sorts that’s sinewy and mostly limbs and joints, slender and tall, but packs an alarming strength that not many peg him to have. He’s pale, with a strong jawline, a blur of colour in his hazel irises and a litter of eyebrow and lip piercings to pair with gelled, brown, short spiked hair with short-sides, and high-skin fade cut that melts into long, sprawling neck tattoos that disappear into his clothes. Asher is one of those sorts that spends hours cutting, trimming and fussing over his beard, and effortlessly seems to get attention. Asher was also in the city a lot, as it is a major capital one, and often travels from studio to studio, so after hooking up, it felt only natural to have him do some work in Envision.

It was a blend of worlds you didn’t expect, but a pleasant change from the no-names or unrecognisable artists who’d occasionally mill through. He records under the name ASH-X, and whilst not one of the biggest headliners of WipeOut! - he was known in a lot of the circles you yearned to be in, featuring with artists and performers you could only see as distant names on your battered iPod or behind a line of security detail. Asher was the kind of guy who had a seemingly unlimited ream of stories about people he’d worked and toured with, his mood rapidly changing with whatever he was talking about.

Like you, Dylan Asher is flighty and impermanent. He walked into your life at around three in the morning, one chilly Thursday when the tour had landed in Stockholm, Sweden. You were staying in the same hotel, a slightly lower star one than the headliner acts, but very close to the venue. You were sitting out in an outdoor area that belonged to the in-house restaurant. He’d watched you smoke discreetly, and swaggered over with a thin smirk and a spark in hie eye - the sort you’d seen him don around the cute merchandise peddling girls.

“Hey Sound-babe,” - you remember how your heart fluttered in your chest that he even seemed to recognise you, and what you were doing in terms of backstage setup that him not knowing your name wasn’t even bothersome.

“Hey,” you remember how gormless you’d sounded, eyes impossibly wide as he asked to steal a few puffs from your cigarette, complaining about how it’s nigh impossible to get any here. The smoking laws and bans had made it so there were significantly fewer stores selling tobacco of any sort, and the ones that did, sold it for far too much money.

“Can I have a drag? I’m dying over here,” - it was sneaky, and you shouldn’t have even been doing it considering the hotel’s policy, even outdoors - when you’re this close, but you were tired and in desperate need.

“It’s my l-last one,” you had cringed at the time, you remember. More than anything, you had wanted Asher to think you were cool, and could feel yourself going warm all over when he sidles up next to you in a chair, the side of his face pressed flush against yours as the forbidden cigarette is passed from mouth to mouth in something that felt incredibly intimate and yet fell just short of a kiss.

The pair of you had stayed out an hour longer, before you followed him back to his hotel room that night, with a promise of warmth and a stiff drink now the bar was closed. It was a nicer one than you had, because it was a king suite, and had a fully stocked minibar of assorted vodkas and whiskies. If you were the kind of girl who’d be concerned about what their modesty looked like, you wouldn’t have done it - but Asher is someone who has a sort of animal magnetism about him. He returns your need and yearn for touch and meets it with twofold intensity.

Unfortunately, nothing good will ever walk into your life at 3am, and that is a fact. Every kiss that had ever made you feel special came after so many others, but when it’s you and Asher - you’re the centre stage. Even if they’re all just frozen moments in time, barely linked and often peppered between alarming mood swings and wiping gentle drips of blood and soft, hanging smears of bright white cocaine from his upper lip. His lips always tasted like wet tobacco and his eyes were always too-wide and blown out, his body alight with a frenetic, desperate energy that you always tried to match.

When you returned home, Nile Dok was not at all happy to find you’re involved with yet another musician, and bringing the chaos of the tour back with you. It’s almost like you’re vindictively doubling down on the argument the pair of you had before you’d left. As if to say that he has no power, and no right to stop you, and that if he’s going to think so poorly of you anyway, what’s the point in fighting it?

Many nights, too many nights, you don’t come home, and it isn’t just from your unsociable work hours. You’ve not a had a proper family dinner with any of them since you’d touched down back home, and now, you weren’t even picking at leftovers anymore - Marie noticed. You’d stumble in at any hour of the day, and if any of them were home, you’d drag in the smell of alcohol and smoke before staggering down into the basement and passing out half-dressed with the lights off.

“I just think that sometimes you can jump the gun without listeni----” your lips had been loosened by Hennessey one night. Maybe two weeks since you’d started semi-regular shifts at Envision now that he was recording there.

“So I’m just an asshole yeah?” Asher cuts you off, and you grimace a bit as the light bickering quickly changes to something else. It’s always like this, but these moments always feel like they disappear as soon as they come. He’s one whose easy to distract by running your fingers across his ink and allowing him to claw at your skin. Its harder when he looks like this, though, the way his eyes twitch and his lip curls at you like you’ve just spat in his drink.

“I didn’t say that,” - and this is how it’d go, followed by a quick backpeddle, because the last thing you need is a lingering fight. He clenches your wrists tightly enough to bruise, earning a wince and a glare as he pushes into your space. The pair of you are too similar in a lot of ways, both skittish and afraid of commitment, but where you yearn for it, Asher doesn’t. The pair of you chase a thrill that spills into blood and danger whenever his touch turns choking and the rush of pleasure quickly melts into terror. He’s better at parties - you think, or thought, rather - because that’s one thing he’s known for being able to do amazingly. They’re the sort that people talk about for months to come, where a TV might get thrown through an upstairs window and women swim topless in his outdoor hot tub, the edges lined with empty glasses that threaten to tip over and pounding music that draws glares from neighbours and calls to the police.

He’s usually in a good mood, but you fucked up by trusting it, and gently broaching an honest - though tipsy - conversation about his moods.

“Fine, I’ll fucking take you home then if I’m such an asshole,” he growls, pulling you abruptly to his Escalade, his nails digging into the flesh of your eyes as your inebriated mind slowly processes what’s happening only when your back connects with the back seat of his car. It’s only when he crawls into the driver’s seat that something wakes up inside of you, and you try to convince him out of it. He doesn’t listen though, and you hear the indoor locks click shut as he peels into the street.

He shouldn’t be driving, he’d popped - well - you’re not sure what, but it’s an upper for sure at least, he can’t seem to stop blinking or winking, and is wiping the numb feeling from his teeth with his tongue. When the music becomes fainter, and you can see him gaining speed, you feel your heart drop to your stomach, a cold lurch overcoming you as you numbly fumble for your phone as discreetly as you can try to reason with Asher.

“What if - if we get pulled over? My old man will flip - lets just go back, or stop here. C’mon man,” you swallow thickly, your other hand trying feebly at the door handle as quietly as you can, only for It to remain stubbornly shut.

Not that you could get out anyway, the car is picking up speed and even if the door swang open it’d hurt, but right now you’d take the risk. Asher is erratic, and you can see the way his shoulders draw up to his ears that he’s seething.

“C’mon Ash - this ain’t - this isn’t funny any more. Lets stop yeah?” uncertainty warbles into your shaky voice but the man doesn’t pay any attention. When you see other cars on the road, you feel a cold lurch in your gut and begin clumsily smashing a text out under your jacket with the flat of your thumb, eyes watering a little with panicked tears.

You regret not crawling into the front seat and acting more docile to calm him, at least you could have swerved into a bollard or something.

_Fuck, I’m so goddamn stupid -_ you do your best to keep the tears back, knowing it’ll set him off worse, and blink them back. At this point, you’re not even sure where Asher’s taken you anymore, and pulling up the GPS would drain your mobile of the last 3% battery it has. If you can get out now, you might have enough to call a taxi or something.

_Shit. Wallet is at his place. Fuck._

It’d have to a cab service that has your card saved as a payment method on their app, but you don’t think you even have the money yet, because you haven’t had your pay come through yet.

“Ash c’mon, I need - I need a piss, can you just drop me at a station or something?” you plead with him a few times, and eventually, you descend into ridiculous, trying to pull him out of his drug induced fury.

“C’mon! Do you want me to piss all over your leather seats? Let me out!” - this makes him slam his fist against the lock button, the loud mechanism’s unlock noise being music to your ears as he throws you into the street, a look of disgust on his face.

“Fine! Figure out your own way home. I’m trying to be a fucking gentleman and this is the thanks I get?” - you hold your hands up in a surrendering motion and then all but throw yourself out of the car, tripping over yourself to apologise as he slams the door shut, and you hear nothing but the screech of peeling tyres as he abruptly pulls out into the street.

Only when the car is a speck in the distance, do you feel the relived, and terrified tears of relief slide down your cheeks as you look at your phone - which has lost another percentage, you realise.

_MESSAGE to: Emergency Contact - Nile D._

_You sent: help_

_You sent: stranded_

_(message seen at 6:00am)_

Fuck was that really the time? That house party in the Hillside really had gone on all night. You want to cry out in frustration - the one time you need him to pull through! You could even stomach the lecture that’d undoubtedly come with it, and bitter disappointment. Right now, you just needed Nile, and feel more stubborn, distressed tears slipping out now that you’re alone in the petrol station, standing a short distance from the gas pumps.

_Nile D. is typing…._

“Oh thank God,” you exhale shakily, wiping the tears on the back of your hand and causing a smear of black eyeliner to smudge across the backside of your skin.

_You have been added to a TeleChat with +1 other._

_Nile D.: I’ve got a multi-agency meeting today. I’ve already left._

_Nile D.: @Erwin - I hate to ask this of you, and so early as well but can you please pick up my daughter if you’re able? Sounds like she lost her wallet again._

You don’t even care that he’s being snippy with you, and that he doesn’t know what’s going on, or that he’s palming the responsibility off to someone else. Right now, you’d just be relieved to see Nile, or any of his quietly judgemental police friends, or even the blond man from all those weeks ago. You don’t care.

_Nile D.: I can make other arrangements if not._

You close your eyes, you need an answer soon or you’ll be pleading your case to the attendant at the gas station and hoping for a little human kindness to try and get you home from wherever the hell you are.

_(Unknown No.) Is typing….._

_Erwin S: I’m just heading out for my morning run. It’s no bother. Where are you?_

You wince, and shakily type out a few words as the bitter morning air hits you and the alcohol has worn off, no longer sheltering you from the bite in the air.

_Me: dont kno_

Yeah, that’s gonna go well with those two - you think, but right now it’s the least of your concerns.

_(You have turned on Location Sharing)._

_+1 Map Image Sent_

_Me: @2% bat_

_Erwin: On my way. Stay put._

You crumble to the ground, you can see Nile is typing, but you know the location sharing is going to drain the last remnants of your battery. You don’t want to look at your phone and see all the missed calls and pitiful, or drunken messages, or smiling Instax photos, you just feel relief and defeat creep up on you at once, burying your head in your knees, ignoring the quiet stream of morning traffic passing by.

Your phone turns off, and the tears begin to roll down your cheeks in earnest, fingers kneading into your messy hair once the phone is slid back into your pocket and a small, muted sob leaks out before you can stop it.

_I fucked up._


	2. Uncut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((AN: a mini chapter of sorts because i am under a crippling amount of work/personal/emotional stress and struggle to get by on a daily basis.))

_Chapter Two_

**Uncut**

You recognise the Mazda first, and a flash of blond in the front seat is enough for you to yank the door open and throw yourself into the front seat. Barely having the presence of mind not to rudely slam the door shut again once you're sat down, forcefully smacking back into the chair and only feeling a small sense of relief once the warmth of the toasty, heated vehicle sets in. 

"Strap in," - the voice is familiar to you, but all you hear is the sounds of nail edges tapping a hard surface while the driver begins setting a route up on the GPS. He hasn't quite clocked on to the state you're in until he glances up, and his brows draw into a gentle frown as you pull the seatbelt over your front. You're not looking at him though, you caught his memorable blue eyes in the overhead mirror and didn't need to double check who you'd gotten in with. 

Your head hurts, and you can feel your eyelids have a cold, aching feelings like they'd been open far too long, and the weight of all your exhaustion had finally rained down on you with tremendous force. There's a faint scent of smoke and alcohol in the Mazda, but it wasn't overpowering, there's just no way of dousing over what you had been out all night doing while the rest of civilised society had slept and was slowly inching towards the work day. 

"Thanks for this," it comes out hoarse, and crackly, like you've spent every last smidgen of energy you had on speaking and the energy was quickly dissipating from your body as you slumped slightly in the seating. It's only when you feel something cold graze your lap that you wrench your eyes open, and see a water bottle being offered, the bottom of it just barely touching your leg as Nile's friend passes it to you wordlessly. 

Gripping it with both hands seemed to jar you back to reality for a moment, and even though you're not thirsty - you guzzle down what you can and miss the quick darting movement of Erwin's eyes flicker to the bruise forming around your wrist as you hold the bottle up to your lips. He isn't immediately forceful, or demanding of an explanation, and instead quietly puts the car into reverse to pull out of the petrol station. The sound of the GPS announcing the distance to your address as an hour and a half was enough to make you feel a little guilt amidst your relief that he'd drive all the way to your place. He likely lived the other side of town judging from the routes he was used to taking, and lived a short distance from the more well-to-do, gated communities of the Hillside. It's comforting to know you're finally in a car and going towards home, with somebody who is, by virtue of being dad's friend, completely and utterly safe. He's clearly a safe choice - a put together sort of guy, dressed in a taut, black, short-sleeved work out shirt, a sports bottle filled with a protein drink just behind his gear shift and even a little retro sweatband around his forehead which might have made you take pause if you'd had enough energy to give a damn. Erwin Smith casually oozes the airs of a person who generally has it together, and doesn't even seem mildly bothered by the state you'd gotten into his car in.

"No need to thank me, do you need me to drive you to a police station, though?" the topic is broached as gently as his voice can manage, but he doesn't mince his words. He isn't sure what he was supposed to say but, apparently not that - because you visibly tense, and then grimace, looking vacantly out of the passenger side window and ignoring his intense, blue gaze in the overhead mirror.

"Not unless you want to kill my career," you murmur, noticing how much gunky makeup had smeared on the back of your hand from how much you'd cried and wiped your eyes, and in your reflection - you look terrible. Your eyes are swollen and the black, poorly wiped eyeliner is caked around your cheeks and a little across your left temple from where your clumsy rubbing had spread it. 

You feel the atmosphere become more tense in the Mazda, and it is now you realise you need to contextualise the situation before this overtly sensible seeming man pulls you into a police station. The only thing that'll happen is that Nile will hear about it, as he's your listed contact for, well, everything - and as an officer, he'll be privy to everything in the reports more than likely. 

"Listen, it's fine, it was just a stupid argument," rolling some loose curls in your fingertips, you continue to stare vacantly out of the window, not looking in his direction. You try to clear your nose a little by sniffling but manage to sound like a stopped up drain and grimace. "Lets just go home, yeah?" - your tone is pleading, and it's enough for the blond to continue along the line of the GPS with a little frown.

"Alright," he acquiesces, for now.

He supposes that he could have a word with Nile, or better, convince you to. He is also a police officer, as well as your father figure. If there is anything to come of this, it's probably best to go that route, at the very least, he needs more facts to figure out how to help. Erwin is doing Nile a favour, as well, by looking out for you - what sort of friend would he be if he did just the bare minimum? He's a pragmatic man, but not unkind, and instead takes you home in companionable silence, broken only by a low, smooth, easy-listening channel on the radio to break the stillness.

It's a long ride, though and he broaches the topic cautiously, not wanting to be more invasive than appropriate.

"Do you want to talk about it?" 

Drawing your aching eyelids shut again, forehead pressed against the window glass, there isn't an immediate answer. He's still one of your father's friends, and so anything you tell to him could just end up in his ears anyway, but there is a sort of genuineness in the question that made you consider his question. Usually you'd brush those sorts of enquiries off with practiced ease from how used to dodging specifics and questions you've gotten since joining the Dok household, but admittedly - in this moment - you are weak. Everything just feels raw, like an exposed nerve, and an exasperated sigh flaps out of your lips with a put-out _pffffth._ As if you're only slightly annoyed and not sporting bruises, either intending to downplay the situation or simply being so used to it that it's just a bump in a road you've consistently travelled.

It's more the latter than the former, to be honest.

"It's kind of a long story, and you'll just tell dad, and dad'll lose his shit as per usual and nothing goods gonna come of it so what's the point?" a petulant puff leaves you. There's no energy to even try and hide what you're thinking. It comes across like you're put out by his kindness, and that makes you grimace a bit when you hear yourself.

"Sorry," you add, as an afterthought, though it sounds defeated - like the whole burdensome nature of your social life had finally gotten on top of you and you were just tired of sounding waspish and bitter, but there isn't enough energy left to sound your usual self. You feel the car gently tilt as Erwin pulls a left turn into more familiar streets, which also helps release some of the tension that had been stuck in the pit of your stomach.

"Don't be, we're just talking," he doesn't say that he won't tell Nile, because in truth, if you're in some sort of danger, a prescient, physical threat - he will absolutely do the responsible thing, even if it means interjecting in a family situation. That said, he isn't particularly eager to rush in and try to tell Nile how to parent a now-adult charge of his, and so he keeps his tone coaxing, and unperturbed. He wants to try and be as impartial as he can whilst being responsible, because the truth is, he knows very little with the exception of what Nile and Marie have had to say, and his brief experience dropping you to work a few weeks back.

"It's not my place to get between you and your father, if you're in some kind of trouble though - I'd encourage you to talk to him," he takes a diplomatic approach. It's going to be a long drive back, even though he's back in familiar territory, though admittedly he's not exactly the most _emotionally available_ person - his curiosity about you makes him maintain a soft handling of the situation.

"We don't really have talks," you drawl, eyes closed again "-we just sorta yell at each other," there's some attempt at levity in your dry honesty, but the blond doesn't laugh, his brows drawing into a thoughtful frown.

"When he thinks he's right he just sort of...." you trail off, and shrug, which actually gets a small smothered snort from the blond. He never put too much thought into Nile as a parent, and by all rights his biological children seem to be flourishing, but when it came to problem teens who - admittedly, he took in when you were older and likely already had ingrained habits and sharp memories from your blood family, he seemed to lack. His conversations about you were often exhausted ones, frustrated ones, and often showed a lack of clarity about everything that you are. It's not as though the man doesn't try, either, even as an outsider, Erwin could tell that much purely from how much he cares about you, enough to still want to parent and look out for you even in your twenties, but it clearly isn't working. 

"Ah, yes, that sounds a lot like the Nile I grew up with," a small smile despite the seriousness of the situation tugged a little at his lips. He wants you to know that he has some understanding, however vague, of what you have to deal with. "He was a little more of a straight-laced sort than even me when we were younger," he's one to weigh up the pros and cons but ultimately try to maintain as close to the rigid authority as possible. It was therefore little wonder that such a man ended up choosing policing as a career. "I suppose I can assume it might make it a little difficult to talk to him sometimes?" he pries gently, and seemed to have inadvertently unjammed a frail, emotional door, because you reply suddenly and loudly.

"Too right! I get better luck with Ma but she's so busy trying to keep a house of idiots running that I legit feel bad giving her more stuff to think about!" rubbing your temples in frustration, you can feel a little more than you'd intended to just begin leaking out - as though once you'd opened your mouth, it was hard to close it. "-every time I tell dad about Asher or - like, _any_ boy he just enters murder mode or whatever and doesn't even register the actual issue! He just goes wading in with his size twelves and tries to bust them on coke charges," lip jutting out as you snarl in frustration "-not a hot look in my industry!" - you exclaim, hands balled up against your knees.

Shit, maybe that was a little too honest, but the man didn't seem too effected, and instead, lowers the radio so he can listen to you more, causing you to blink a little in surprise. Maybe it shouldn't be such a shock that he'd react differently, out of all of Nile's friends you'd sparsely met, none of them go back as far as childhood, and so Erwin's reactions seem a lot more measured and understanding by comparison.

"That does sound like Nile," he concedes "-but it comes from a good place. He just has firm ideas over what he believes is the right thing, and he wants to protect you, even if he.... may not always understand how," he adds hesitantly - again, feeling a little out of place knowing that he has no real authority to comment on his friends parenting. He instead decides to switch from a ham-fisted attempt at defending his friend, because in truth, he doesn't know enough, nor is it his place, to comment on how he'd raised you in the brief time he'd had you as a teenager. Instead, he goes for the opening you'd left, and shows he'd been actively listening, even if you looked to be in bits, and not necessarily the clearest headed.

"Tell me about this Asher boy, then," he's now utterly out of his depth, he wouldn't know the first thing to advise, but he can certainly listen - he needs to know you're not in danger. He needs to know that the bruising on your wrist isn't indicative of a more dire situation. This question, however, earns a sigh from you as you tilt your head back into the seat and fall silent for a good few minutes.

He wondered, for a moment, if he'd overstepped - at least, until you finally opened your mouth to speak.

"He's a shitty fuckboy Mister S," - which earns a small, questioning silence - he isn't bothered by your casual cursing, but he doesn't have much beyond context clues to understand that what you'd called the boy was a bad thing. "I'm not _stupid_ ," a small amount of self-directed venom slipping in your bitter tone. 

"Whatever dad thinks, I'm not. I know he's not a _forever-guy._ I know he's not the greatest," - there's no way explaining it doesn't come out ugly though, so you avoid looking in the driver's direction. "-but he was one of the acts on our tour, not a headliner but pretty damn connected. I ain't getting nowhere without being pulled into all this. He approached _me_. He got into my sound - and you don't tell a guy like him no, he just," you make a vague gesture with your hands "-the universe has never told him no and I was just amazed he noticed I was alive," you grumble, cheeks flushing a little. 

"Ah, I assume you're seeing this boy then," he doesn't know what sort of music your tour was featuring, and his understanding was formed from what little he knew peripherally of roadies and roadie culture from television and books, but it seemed surprisingly accurate. You get to be close to headliners, and you're inescapably in their space. 

"Kinda?" you grimace "-It's kinda on again, off again. I don't know, but you don't say no to the guy - and he said he'd hook me up with some of his people," it's now you force yourself to look over to the man, who'd pulled up at a stoplight to look at you with what could only be called calculating concern, like he's trying to connect what he knows about you to what you're saying. "I don't wanna be a sound monkey forever, most of what comes through the studio I have to mix is garbage. Not trying to fuck my own ass or anythin' but I make my own music and I'd like to say it's pretty good," - earning a small look of surprise from the man - why did Nile never mention that? Or did he miss it under all the casual complaining he did that could so easily turn to white noise?

"The last thing I need is to get frozen out of my own genre because my old man thinks he can fix it by raiding his house in the Hillside and throwing me at the closest nine to five job vacancy he can find," you rub your eyes a little more despite how much worse it makes you look, sloping a little more in the seat. "-he doesn't like the lifestyle, but it's a package deal and it's all I'm good at," - that bitter edge returns, and another silence settles between the pair of you.

It feels like he should be saying something more, but he doesn't have the facts, rapport or place to say it, so he just exhales slowly, noticing you're a little less tense in the car now, and takes a moment to try and keep the mood open and personable.

"I think I understand, this is something that's important to you, enough for the risks anyway, and obviously, that hasn't gone down favourably, because he wants to keep you safe," his smile isn't a happy one, but it's an understanding one, and your shoulders untense when he looks at you that way, turning back to the open road now that the lights were changing.

"That's the cliffnotes version of it yeah," without even touching on the fact Asher does, perhaps, more cocaine than even most people headlining WipeOut! and the strange, old money bubble that he existed in, having grown up in places like the Hillside and other ritzy gated communities. There's so many more layers to it, but you'd already felt like you'd pretty much thrown up your feelings in the mans lap, and are tired of talking about it. Erwin has a keen sense that there's more to it - but he hasn't the right to the information, yet he remains concerned from the state of your wrist, and how taken apart you seem in his passenger seat.

"It sounds like you're having a rough time of things. We're almost at yours now - were you out the entire night?" - he changes the subject for the time being, detecting your tiredness. It was 7:05 now, and they were about a half hour away from home.

"Yeah, from like, 8pm yesterday, I'm totally spent Mister S." you're looking at him again, head leaning against the seat like you could pass out with ease, betrayed only by a sharp, loud, empty grumbling of your stomach that carries easily now that the radio is turned off. "If I even had bus money on me I'd probably fall asleep," you murmur.

"Mm. Well, I believe Marie and Nile are both gone now, and you sound hungry. I don't mind getting some breakfast before I drop you off," in truth, he'd had some already - a light serving of fruit and oatmeal before he'd gone out for his run, and that's usually enough to get him through until twelve. He is, however, extremely conscious of the time, as his work day starts at 9:00am sharp in the city centre, which he'd already put behind him in the dust. He still needed to shower and change into his suit too - so it's now that he's realised he'd likely be late.

Considering his flawless track record, and especially as someone who is totally reliable and doesn't even call out sick if he can help it, it wouldn't be an issue, and one look at your makeup-running cheeks and watery eyes is enough for him to decide what takes priority at the moment. You're someone whose in some sort of bad crowd, who'd clearly had some incident in the night, a vulnerable younger woman who Nile had trusted him to make sure was safe.

He was on top of his work. Work could stand to wait a little. 

"I don't have money," it wasn't a no, you're too exhausted to cook and you're obviously hungry, but Erwin merely takes one hand off of the steering wheel and waves it off.

"Don't worry about it, lets get you fed, watered and home. If you've been drinking, you should line your stomach before you go to bed. It'll help the hangover," he adds, though there is a distinct lack of shaming in his words which, honestly, you'd fully expected from Mister-Has-His-Shit-Together.

"I need something too," he adds - though this is a lie, he is a serial desk snacker at work, precisely because his breakfasts are so light, and he'd rather you not feel strange or awkward about accepting his kindness. For all of your cursing and casual, feisty abrasiveness, you appear to take on a demure sort of tone towards being given something, which bemuses the man a little.

Resolving in your head that you'd pay Erwin back, or get Nile to pay for it later and then pay back your dad, you nod, cheeks a little flush regardless. It was always kind of hard to accept things like that, especially when it felt like charity, but the blond didn't seem bothered or remotely put-out by it, and asks what you want. Not wanting to be rude, and not someone who eats a lot of solids in the morning, you just thumb to the closest pair of golden arches you can see, and Erwin goes through the drive-thru without question.

It's not the kind of cheap, fastfood garbage he would occasionally treat himself to, but it certainly does the job and he's hardly an elitist. If this is what is a comfortable choice for you, he's not about to make you feel off about it. 

He pulls up to the order window, and pulls out a debit card, utterly unphased by your awkward shifting beside him.

"A large double espresso for me please, and - whatever my lady friend would like," - he notes how your eyes flicker over certain things on the menu, before you settle reluctantly on a toffee latte and no solid food, which makes him frown a bit.

"Sure you don't want anything solid with that? I really do not mind in the slightest," he'd even prefer it, but you just shrug, and smile gratefully at him, saying no. He doesn't push it though, and it's a surprisingly pleasant, quiet drive back to the Dok household.

He only really breaks it when he's pulling into the driveway, and the pair of you are quietly but audibly sipping and nursing steaming hot drinks. Your body welcomes the heat and the caffeine, though your stomach feels the emptiness just a little more from the lack of nonliquid food, a small smile is already starting to sneak onto your face.

"Thanks for this Mister S," it doesn't seem right not to say something more, and whilst he was probably just being responsible for the sake of his longstanding friendship, he certainly didn't have to _listen_ to you. It had been surprising, and you had appreciated it, and so hesitantly lean over the gearstick and nudge his shoulder with your side. It's brief - only for a moment, but is typical of your physically affectionate self.

"You're pretty cool for one of dad's friends," - which earns a small, muted chuckle into his drink that actually surprises you when he does it, showing that he isn't slighted by your light banter. The pair of you drink a little more in silence, before he takes his key out of the ignition and the engine falls silent, the pair of you staring out of the windshield until he puts his half-finished drink down and looks over to you.

"Is there anybody you can call to stay with you until Nile or Marie get back? I don't feel particularly good about leaving you home alone after you've had such a rough time of it," he doesn't know why this earns a weak giggle out of you. It amuses you, to be honest, just how concerned this man seems to be, and you just shake your head with a dim smile that doesn't carry to your eyes.

"Nah. It's fine though, I'll get over it, always do," - and that's when Erwin makes a choice, he thinks about what Nile would do, and what would happen if the positions were reversed. He thinks, for a moment, about the kind of trouble he knows you to get in from the things his friend had told him over time. He thinks about the kind of harm you seem to attract and fall into when you're hurting, or acting out, and the fact it is only 7:30AM - making a snap judgement.

"Well, I don't doubt that, but I don't mind going in a little later if you want some company. If you're certain there's nobody you'd like to call, we could try some of your friends and ask at least?" he offers again, and it's moments like this you're forced to reckon with the fact that you have no friends that you trust to shelter your emotions when you're raw, weak, spent and vulnerable.

It seems some pity-companionship is all you're going to get, and to be honest, it's still a cut above just sitting down and watching Scrubs until you pass out. Was it a little weird? Well, maybe, but Nile trusted this person enough to let him into the family life a bit, and have him step in where he couldn't. He clearly trusted the man enough to be someone reliable, and supportive - so is it any surprise that this guy is exactly those things?

For all of your dads faults, he's a good judge of character, and Erwin Smith had been nothing but kind. 

"Ah, who needs 'em, half of em will be asleep from the party anyway. C'mon Mister S, you can come freshen up and call my dad if you want. Looks like your phones dead anyway, car charging takes like eighty years," gesturing the offhandedly shoved smartphone that had made the tell-tale "battery low" bleep as they'd pulled in. 

And just like that, he finds himself following you home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((AN - hoping that was on point for him, aiming for next chapter to be.. chungier... since I'm off this weekend but we'll SEE. We'll be getting into the music eventually I'm just laying down character stuff first, u dig? Anyway R&R if you like ))


	3. Let The Right One In

_Chapter Three_

**Let the Right One In**

Being inside of the Dok house with nobody else home feels like a very personal encroachment of privacy, even with him and Nile's history. The distance that came with growing older had long since changed their open door friendship of being able to wander freely into the others abode, but Nile wouldn't particularly mind. He makes a quick trip to the bathroom and comes back down to find you've wiped all of the smears of eye makeup and stray stains from your face, arched forwards while your fingers grip the edge of the kitchen sink. 

Picking your coffee cup back up from the counter top, you turned to the blond, who was holding his own, his phone in the other. He gives you a once-over like he's trying to gauge whether you're actually feeling better or not. You're still sniffling thickly, but appear to be in marginally better spirits.

"Ugh, they took the spares," you grumble, closing a drawer in the kitchen which seemed to just be reserved for general household bits and pieces that felt as though they didn't have a true place anywhere else. "You don't have a spare adapter on you right?" or rather, in his car - but truthfully no, because he usually keeps it in his work desk and relies on his cars charging port when needed.

"No, I usually keep my spare at work," usually so he doesn't have to plug it into his office computer and break the no-transferrable-data-devices plugin rule as per company policy. 

"Right, whatever, I've got some somewhere, can I see your charger a sec?" you hold your hand out patiently, and the blond, though confused - dutifully hands it over as you give the end of the charging cable quick look and give it back with a spark of recognition in your eye. His phone is probably a slightly older model of phone but not by much, if it requires a standard, older charger that you're certain you have a couple of somewhere, as they used to be industry standard and still are for a quite a few bits and pieces you have.

"Ah a micro, cool, okay c'mon - I've got some stuff in the basement," it still didn't feel right to call it a bedroom per se, so you don't. Any oddness that the man might have felt about being invited into the private quarters that you sleep in is promptly dashed by the fact it isn't really so much of a bedroom at all. Walking through the home, the pair of you stop at a door which you open with ease, pointedly avoiding the light and instead letting it pour in from the corridor down the staircase into a black abyss. 

Erwin goes to flip the switch, only for you to shout back behind you, already halfway down the stairs.

"Don't bother! Whoever did the cabling here was dog shit at it. The lights never worked," not that you could remember anyway. You'd always wanted to try your hand at fixing it, but your understanding of complex cabling and electricals was always a work in progress, and whilst you believed in your abilities, Nile was a lot more paranoid and would rather not have you near it. He tries it regardless, though, and no light comes on. So, with trepidation he grips a hand rail for the staircase and follows you down, eyes adjusting to the dim light before he hears a faint clicking sound, and a stream of low, dark purple light that lines the basement walls in purposeful fashion. They're not harsh, but they have a bioluminescent quality to them and it takes a few moments for it to register that they're a long string of LEDs. 

Looking around, he can see a box of Christmas and Halloween decorations respectively, piled high and labelled in one corner of the room. The rest of it seems to be boxed up household items that Nile has upstairs that, for a moment, confuse him - until it clicks that it's likely all things from when you'd had your own accommodation. 

"Sorry, I don't really get visitors down here," you mutter, because there's a pile of beer and soda cans near a cheap, office wastebasket that was overflowing and the more prominent scent of stale alcohol and stray tobacco. It isn't stifling, thankfully, because there isn't much ventilation down there and you were conscious of trying not to make it smell too awful down there. 

"It's fine," Erwin says shortly, quietly taking everything in, cogs turning behind his eyes. The remark you'd made earlier made a lot more sense now, about feeling like an undesirable Christmas decoration. It'd be easy to see why you'd feel that way, even just walking down here, as much as you'd tried to stamp your identity on it, it still seems like such an afterthought to put you down there. Not that it wasn't understandable, it was a temporary situation to be sure, and there was probably an absolute ordeal trying to get you sharing a room again. This was private, if nothing else.

"Ah, okay, box on your left next to my tower setup, there should be a couple of adaptors in there near the bottom," - Erwin grimaces when his eyes settle on a PC tower which is on the ground, with a keyboard and display monitor again, mounted on a box of sealed belongings with a crude fold-out garden chair as a means to use it. It didn't look remotely comfortable, to be honest - but dutifully he goes over and begins rooting through the box, which is filled to the brim with cables and cords.

"Ah! Here," you were rooting around elsewhere and brandish a sleek, red, scarcely used micro data cable, just as the blond pulls out a white adapter with two USB slots. "You can have this, I've got like....loads, and yours looks a bit worn out," without waiting for an answer, you take the adapter from him and then hold out the charging end expectantly. He thanks you quietly, but you wave it off and walk towards your bed where there's an extension lead close by to charge your devices.

"It'll be a little bit before it turns on, you may as well make yourself at home," you sit on your mattress, on top of some soft, dark sheets against a corner of the basement, looking up at the blond with seemingly no care or thought to how odd it is to invite him onto your bed.

"Alright," not wanting to be rude, he gingerly follows suit despite his concern that the boxes the mattress is held aloft on might not handle his weight. Surprisingly, it holds, and there is now a slight awkward distance between your bodies as you're both sat on the edge of the bed, before you decisively slide out of heeled ankle boots, pulling up your mismatched socks so you're properly sat and shuffle back into the wall and pillows.

"So, is there anybody you'd want to call soon? Marie, maybe?" he's sure if you spoke to her, she'd find a way to leave work and come home. You shrug, pulling your legs up so you're comfortable - sipping the last of your toffee latte. "A friend?" - Erwin presses, because it's slowly inching towards 8am and he'll have to drive back, get suited up and call in late, he thinks.

"Nah," to tell the truth, there isn't anybody you really trusted with your emotions - not like that, and you dealt with most things internally, before acting out to try and ease the pain that comes with it. "-My friends are.... shit, what's the word? Emotionally unavailable. Yeah. Plus dad hates most of them and pitches a fit if they come over," you add. 

_'Of course he does_ ,' Erwin muses, which makes this even harder, he thinks - as he feels totally out of place in his current position.

It had been impossible to leave you in the manner he had found you. There was a certain sense of responsibility he felt when he looked at you, though there are no more eyeliner smears from around your eyes, they are still red and swollen. The basement is cold, with sparse heat only coming from the small space heater a little ways off the bed, and the moody, purple LED lights that give the ramshackle room a sense of underground wonder and urban club lounges only frames you in a more unfortunate picture. There's nothing soft around you, just cables, technology and broken toys that were likely never yours, with all of the other familial rubbish. There's nothing comforting to fall into, nothing inherently personal beyond strewn clothes and a battered guitar. It's like being surrounded by all of your few pieces, and sat in his taut black running shirt, Erwin can feel that it's not the kind of place that insulates well enough to sleep in.

When the pair of you finish your drinks, the empty cups are placed on the ground - as there's nowhere else - and you look apologetically over to the older man.

"Sorry about this Mister S," you sigh, "-I don't wanna get in the way of your day or anything," with his sweatband and work out gear, it kind of feels like you had. Under the neon lighting he can see the tiredness in your eyes, but it's unlikely you'll sleep right after having caffeine, and it's in that moment that he makes a snap decision to hang around a little longer. It didn't feel right leaving you, and surely Nile would do the same if the tables were turned somehow, and he was in this position. For all of his friends complaints, Erwin's main takeaway from it is that, you are, even as an adult, someone he'd consider volatile in their vulnerability. 

Someone who shouldn't have to be alone when they're like this.

"You don't need to worry about that," when his phone flickers on, however, he takes it into his hand and fires off a quick text message to work - that's one thing he doesn't need to think about right now. "I'm just going to let your father know that I've got you home alright?" he adds, quickly sending Nile a text. He knows it wont be seen for a while, working in a secure facility like a station means he only really uses his phone on breaks or when he's out in the field and needs it. 

_Erwin: @Nile I've got her home. Please don't worry._

_(Seen at 7:45am)_

That cinched it, he's too busy to reply, but at least he knows. You don't seem bothered by Nile knowing you're safe or not, though, and just look at him with an unreadable expression. You're still dressed in your clothes from the night before, tight, matte high-waist faux leather leggings and a tiny, strappy, tiny excuse for a crop top that is designed to look like it's held up by black string that crossed over your breasts and pulled up to your neck in a halter neckline, and a small black jacket. Usually by now you'd have crawled into an overlarge shirt and gone to bed, but you're too wired, and the pair of you are now in awkward, yet companionable silence.

"Alright, I've informed him but I suspect he'll be busy a while," Erwin turns to you, and seems to deliberate something internally, before hesitantly sliding his trainers off. It's now you appreciate the fact you really had caught him completely out of the blue, complete with dorky sweatband and grey sweatpants. If you'd had half a mind at the moment to give him a once over you might have appreciated the sight a bit more, but you're preoccupied rubbing the tiredness out of your aching eyes.

"Sounds about right. Nice to know I'm not the only one he airs, though," you snort humourlessly, trying not to feel self-conscious as the man's eyes roved around the basement. His eyes landing briefly on small clothing piles, the guitar, and then a smatter of differently sized screwdrivers and a few tools that definitely shouldn't be just left on the ground - between beer cans no less.

"He'll reply when he can, why don't you tell me a little bit about this party then? You were a long way out from home," he tries to frame it as concerned curiosity - and it works. 

"Yah, I was up Hillside, y'know?" you stretch your legs out a bit, and then decide to sit cross legged while the blond remains perched off to the side. "It's a long story so you may as well get comfy, I don't mind," you add as an afterthought. 

He slowly, albeit oddly-feeling, pulls his legs up onto the bed to join you, but there is a healthy distance from the pair of you, as he's aware he takes up quite a bit of space, the pair of you face each other, crossed legged, with you idly running your finger atop the blankets in the space between you both.

"So, I was at a party - with Ash, that guy I mentioned earlier. Asher lives in the Hills, surprise surprise. He's um - don't get me wrong. He's good. Like, his sound is quality. His music is tight, but he's old money," you tilt your head at Erwin's frown when you say that, and try to clarify, albeit poorly. "-like, old-old money. Like, _'My-Great-Great-Whatever-Invested-in-Oil-Before-the-Boom_ old money. He pretty much grew up with all the connections he needed to manufacture himself a career," a put-out sigh leaves you as it turns into a little bit of a resentful grumble. "Some assholes grow up lucky with money _and_ talent," - you knew how this made you sound, though. The more details you gave, the more it felt like you were framing yourself to be some sort of gold-digger whose around a man like that purely because of the wealth and connections he has. So, you're quick to say something else - not wanting to have this nice guy think as poorly of you as you're certain Nile does. 

"He's usually really nice too. He came up to me when we were on tour, I didn't do anything with the goal of like, squeezing him for stuff. Ash listened to some of my stuff online after I brought it up and has been trying to use it as leverage ever since - to get me to hang out with him, go to his parties and stuff. I think he has this idea that we're some collaborative powerhouse so we should go out or something," it sounds resentful now, because you are, a while back - this would have been an amazing, earth-shattering proposal that you'd have been all-in for. Asher was handsome, charming after all, and sometimes he even made you laugh. There was certainly worse - you'd thought. "S'what I mean when I said we're on-again off-again. I went all in. I'm always all-in. I usually think people are cool and nice and mean what they say. But nobody ever told him no, so he's used to having his cake and eating it too. He can fuck whoever he wants but so help me if I'm nice to someone he's threatened by - all of a sudden I'm an ungrateful whore," you spit out.

Okay. Maybe that had been a bit too-much-information, and startled at your own admission, you gaze up at Erwin, whose expression hasn't changed.

"Was that what the fight was about?" he's patient still, and not at all judgemental, though the air feels like it takes on a thicker tension. He struggles to picture guys messing someone like you around, you're somebody whose full of bluster and honesty - and quite a lovely little thing, roughness and all. Granted, he doesn't know much about you besides what he knows through others and his brief surface-level interactions.

"No, it was stupider. I said he jumps the gun sometimes and I caught him during one of his coked out mood swings so he was trying to force me to leave and _'be a gentleman'_ by taking me home _'if I think he's suuuch an asshole,'_ " you finish, with air quotes, and then pull a short, disgusted face at how it sounded. It's dysfunctional yes, but even worse aloud. Erwin's relived it wasn't a brawl, but he's still uncomfortable with someone with such a volatile temperament exerting enough force to bruise you in the first place.

You don't mention the fact he was the one who drove you and dumped you in the middle of nowhere under the influence, but from the calculating look in the man's eye - he has likely inferred it for himself.

"That doesn't sound healthy at all," Erwin starts, before swiftly adding "-not that it's my place to comment, but this... person, he doesn't sound like someone easy to be around," he phrases it like that, and in truth, he's correct. 

"He's not, but he's my opener, I need him," you mutter with defeat, only for the blond to make a cautious suggestion.

"Do you?" he doesn't understand the industry like you do, and it is likely a very much who-you-know sort of thing, like most circles, but everything was a lot more digital these days. He doesn't think there would be many other times in history where a self-proclaimed drop-out like yourself could manage to score a technical role that earns them a spot on an international tour. 

"You'll have met other people in your industry I'm sure, and you don't need to be involved with them intimately to get them to hear you. The worst thing that could happen is that you get ignored. But that wouldn't be negative, would it?" and you nod, wondering where he was going with this. "So - if, and I mean if, this Asher person is honestly willing to help you, what's stopping you approaching people or companies yourself and using him as a reference? If he's going to help you, he will. If he's not going to, then you can wash your hands of it all there and then. You needn't put yourself in danger pointlessly. Not if they aren't making you happy, and putting you in danger," - that's as delicate as he can put it, but right now, he thinks he might make a brief mention to Marie to have a proper girly talk with you, or something.

The idea of going through a more formal process and using Asher as a straight up reference, the way you might for a job - it didn't even occur to you, and in truth, what - was - stopping you from reaching out online anyway? You're in full control of your digital distribution platform, now that WipeOut! was over, you're even applicable for Verification, you think, with a respectable, albeit small following, why.... can't you?

"You're not just a pretty face, huh?" you say, a thin smile on your lips, this one finally carrying to your eyes when you do.

"I'll think about it, thank ya Mister S," - because really, the man didn't have to do quite so much, or try to comfort you, or be nice to you, or even give you advice outside of do a favour to Nile. He hasn't done anything untoward, and he's nothing but respectful and patient. It's difficult not to feel awkward and bad that you've taken up so much of his time, but at the same time, you'd rather not be left alone with your thoughts. Not now.

"I try," Erwin replies, dryly - returning your small smile before the pair of you fall into silence. He watches as you reach below the bed, near the shoes, and root around for a black slate - a tablet, he realises latently, that you place in the gap between your bodies whilst it turns on. You sniffle once more, still sounding like a stopped drain, and beckon the man to come closer, shifting so there's space beside you rather than in front of you. It's an oddly intimate request - more than anything so far, but you act like you're trying to show him something on your tablet, so he decides to crawl over, grimacing a bit at how much space he takes up when he's beside you. His back is against the wall with you, but with him being as broad as he is, you're crushed into his side - but don't appear to mind or even react.

"I can give it a go now while my phone charges, I guess," you rub your eyes a bit again, and then bite your lip a bit, reflective in the tablet screen before it lights up bright white and starts up. "I dunno how long you wanna hang around for, Mister S," the screen has lit up with the time - somehow it is already 8:15am, but Erwin doesn't even react.

He watches as you begin swiping away, and scowl - ignoring some notifications that quickly begin flashing erratically across the top of the device. It is obviously synced to all of your accounts, and now that your phone is dead and just charging - with not enough power to turn on, all of them are coming through to the tablet, including notifications from the party prior.

He sees flashes of _'where r u'_ but not many, most are people whose names he doesn't know, sending pictures or GIFs, and he swears he sees at least one that uses the word _bitch_ that is very likely directed directly at you. You don't react though, and are completely nonplussed, mindlessly swiping them away and not opening the apps themselves to properly view them or pay them any mind. 

"How long would you like me to stay?".

You actually bristle against him in surprise - fully expecting him to be making his excuses and reasons to politely exit. Looking up at him, and realising just how close he is, you can see that he's looking for a genuine answer, and that you don't really have one that doesn't sound petulant and babyish to your own ears. Did you want him to go? He was pretty cool for one of your dads friends, and he'd been nothing but polite and kind, wasn't he missing work or something? It's a Friday, a standard working day for most office sorts, you think, and he is the furthest thing from office-ready right now.

The truth is, though, you don't really want him to go. The second you're left alone, you're going to be thinking about your stupid fight, you're going to be stressed out about reaching one of your deadlines for one of your projects and otherwise trying to resist the urge to plunge yourself into the social fallout of Asher's abrasive snap last night.

It's easier to avoid when there's somebody you don't want to show it to, around.

"I don't really want to be by myself," - fuck, that really did sound kind of childish and it was inappropriate for you to ask the man to stay. He had already done more than enough, and so you jerk your head away, an embarrassed look creeping up on your face. You were always like this, though - somebody shows you a smidgen of kindness and rightly or wrongly you'd split down the middle and pour your guts out when weak enough, like you're desperate for someone other than yourself to begin picking it all up. "-but I'm sure you're a busy guy and you don't need to babysit my grown ass all day," - but surprisingly, the blond just picks up his now slightly charged phone - tugging the cord a bit as he does, and sends a few other messages, and then looks back at you.

"Oh I'm sure you'd be fine, but I'm forever being nagged to use my leave, and today is as good a day as any," - you blink slowly at how unphased he is at the idea of missing a day of work for someone whose a complete pain in the ass he'd already gone out of his way for, and continue to look embarrassed.

"If you're sure man," you turn back to the tablet - and think about shooting off a few outreach messages, but decide that you'd rather do that after you've had a rest to clear your head and say as much, and only send off one. Instead, the blond steers the conversation easily, he's not a small talk sort of guy, so everything he gently probes about is poignant and demands a substantive answer rather than a simple, performative blather about nothing at all. 

In fact, you think you might have talked more with this guy than you had talked to anybody in a long time, barring drunken rambling sessions with others, which would meander and fail to have a point. He asks about your job - even if he has a noticeably blank expression when you say something that loses him, and he'll ask for explanations before nodding and following. He seemed happy enough to have you scroll through photos posted from the tour you were on. Despite not earning nearly as much as the older man likely did, you'd already been to far more places than he had. Most of the photos were at parties or hotels, or venues that were too dark to see much past neon lights and strobes, but in a lot of photos - he sees Dylan Asher. He's clearly a bigger part of your life than perhaps he should be, considering what he's heard and observed, but in your photos - you seem happy.

"I can't imagine Nile was thrilled to hear you were in Mexico," Erwin commented, only for you to give him a small giggle - an earnest one.

"Mexico gets a bad rap, but everywhere has shady places. Everyone I met was really nice, it was sunny, and the amount of times I got my ass lost not knowing any Spanish and still ended up okay in a villa in Cabo is a testament to how dope the people are," - to be honest, most of the issues you'd had on tour had been from colleagues or inner-circle drama related to the industry itself and all of the social intricacies that came with it. 

"Honestly the amount of times I wash up some place with no idea where I am is enough to piss dad off," you say, perhaps too casually, and earn a brow raise from the man.

For a moment, you had actually forgotten how utterly shattered and awful the night prior had left you. There even came a point where you ran out of tour photos to show, and the rest were just selfies in varying states of dress and getup, or nightclub photos that were a little harder to see or more on the risque side. There were a few from work - you show him one of being inside the studio, working what looked like a complicated board of dials and switches, sporting a large pair of headphones while somebody else took the shot, shown only by a thumbs-up from an off-camera person. Even now, Erwin can't say he's too clued up on the ins and outs of what you do and who you are, but he has a much better understanding than he used to, and that there is clearly a lot more technical knowledge required than Nile had ever bothered to mention.

In fact, he's even certain he can see some of Nile's older, more retro pieces of technology unboxed and being worked on - because he spots a vaguely familiar Dreamcast in the corner of his eye. Between that and the battered guitar, he's certain there's more than you'd deigned to share. Erwin being the curious man he is - continues to ask, surprising you when you'd finally settled on putting something on Netflix now that you'd run out of tour material to show him, and follow his line of sight, pausing _Scrubs_. He hadn't protested to passively watching it, but in truth the pair of you were mostly talking over it, and allowing it to fill any remnants of awkwardness in the basement. Erwin is gesturing to a small, old, grey console in a far corner of the room, showing that he had been paying a bit more attention than you'd actually noticed.

"People still enjoy the Dreamcast? Me and Nile used to play it in college, wouldn't surprise me if that's the same one," Erwin mused, earning a blink of surprise from you. The idea of these too-serious men playing video games was enough to hurt your head for a moment, but the Dreamcast was, in fact, Nile's - you knew that much. It had been a light sort of project you'd taken to, just to fill the time between jobs when you weren't out with Asher or recovering from being out with Asher, or doing your own music.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, it's wild. You know there's indie developers still making brand new games for that thing? Right now? In the year of our Lord and 4K television? It's wild," you sniffle, still sounding blocked up but a lot less upset - while Erwin gave you a surprised and almost sceptical look. "It's open-source - kind of - long story, but homebrew gear comes out for it still," you shrug. You don't consider yourself a retro sort of gamer, but in your efforts to restore the device, you'd picked up quite a bit.

"I need a new CMOS battery and logic board but y'know the controllers fine and the fans replaced. I mean at this point it might have been easier to buy a new one but hipsters have jacked that shit up so much I'm just repairing this one," it wasn't the most complex of things - a lot of older systems and even terminals tend to be a lot easier to deal with than most modern technology that you deal with on a day to day basis. It's pleasantly malleable, more physical in alteration and modification, requiring a steady hand and a more basic understanding than you're used to. It is, in a strange way, how you relax - it's low pressure, relatively lower cost than the things you use for work. 

Erwin seems a little surprised by your casual approach to what once upon a time, he and Nile had considered a height of technology. He has old, old memories of playing it in college with the man from time to time, particularly once their exams were over. Despite knowing what you did to make money, he finds it hard to think of you as someone with such technical hobbies even in their off time, perhaps because Nile never particularly brought it up when he discussed you. It would be easy to assume you're just lips, big hair and attitude but the hesitant smile on your face whenever he gently pressed a subject with you - without judgement - showed him there was more there than he'd thought initially.

The blond doesn't even realise how close he is, or how easily time slips by until he hears your stomach rumble and remembers that his own lunch is sitting in a tupperware box in his fridge at home. Whether or not the current position he's in was appropriate had faded to the back of his mind, with hours of Scrubs and listening to to you talk about your brief stint globe-trotting. One little poke it seems, is all it takes, before it all comes tumbling out. He almost feels boring by comparison. You'd managed so much, it seems, in a short amount of time, and he says as much - watching the way your face shifts into one of blushing surprise at his words.

"Well, I mean, I don't have that much to show for it," you gesture to the basement with a grim little smile "I don't even have a bed frame anymore," snorting - but playing it off lightly. 

"You have experiences, and it's good to get those in when you're young. I went to school, went to university, and went right to work," Erwin said, musing reflectively "I didn't even take a gap year. I suppose I could travel now, but I'd always have a mortgage to return to. I can't just decide to spend an indeterminate amount of time somewhere new," he's rooted, anchored even - but you don't really see the issue. The idea of ever getting on the property ladder was a pipedream to most people your age and below, and the contemplative _what-if_ musings of the older man as though he'd perhaps missed a trick had you looking at him in disbelief.

"And that's a bad thing? Shit, Mister S," you muse, watching him carelessly flick through different delivery services on his own phone now it had some charge.

"You're goals as hell, you've got your shit together," - he freezes for a moment when he feels the top of your head brushing his shoulder, clearly done casually from how long you'd been right up next to him. Your head is tilted - leaning against him as you drew your knees up to your chest, pushing into him to look over at the phone in his hand. He doesn't want to bring attention to it - he supposes as carefree as you are, from what he's heard from Nile, you're not quite so open, at least, not with him. He can easily imagine these aren't conversations you have with your stepfather, you're flighty, sporadic, and unruly - he doesn't want to disrupt this strange yet fragile peace you seemed to have with his presence as a general helper and friend of Nile's.

"I suppose this might be a case of the grass always being greener on the other side, hm?" he isn't quite sure how to take your _goals-as-hell_ remark, but he supposes it's probably a compliment. It's in this moment that your stomach rumbles, again, loudly - and you look a little sheepish, about to reach for - God - what was that? A half-melted chocolate bar? He sees you eying it right by the PC tower near the keyboard and clears his throat.

"Well I think it's about time for lunch, I was thinking of ordering - if that's alright?" he didn't expect you to run around and try to make him something, not when he's imposed himself to stay and keep you company, but he watches as you look a little awkward, and swiftly suggests a place before you instinctively go for something cheap and terrible out of some misguided politeness. "I was thinking of Leo's - actually," - he watches the way you tense a bit at the price list, but casually adds his own order and hands you his phone.

It's all quasi-healthy, upwardly priced, fancy sort of fastfood with an added fee for delivery - it's not something Erwin thinks too much about spending money on, as he doesn't eat out often anyway. You're almost pale at some of the prices, because you'd never pay a solid twenty for a single burger, and cringe a bit.

"It's a little expensive Mister S," but he dismisses it easily.

"I'd rather pay for quality, don't worry, you're not going to bankrupt me, pick something nice," he says it casually, and so begrudgingly you select a humble rice box with chicken and seasonings, and ignore the strangeness of how easily this man spends time and money on you. He must be incredibly close with your stepfather, because otherwise, you couldn't really fathom people who were kind without ulterior purpose.

When he takes his phone back, he adds a few more things - racking up a considerable bill, and you unpause Scrubs, which is more of background noise fodder than anything either of you paid much mind to.

"Thanks, I'll uh- " you grimace at the checkout price "-I'll owe ya one," but he just shakes his head. 

"Hm, if you get the Dreamcast working I'll consider it even," he says, with a diplomatic smile. 

"Bet," 

* * *

When Marie Dok finally returns home, the first thing she notices is the familiar Mazda parked along the drive. She's certain that her husband isn't going to be home early, and he hasn't messaged anything to that effect. She is, foremost, concerned that her stepdaughter hadn't come home the night prior - and it's a pattern that is uncomfortably familiar, but one she has less control over in her adulthood. It clicks then that Nile has probably asked Erwin to go and pick you up, because it's the sort of thing he'd trust the man with, and instantly, she feels some relief.

"I'm home!" she calls out, she isn't going to be there long - the younger kids are at their extra curriculars, she's just there to change, grab a few things and take a small break before going to pick them up. When nobody replies, Marie frowns, and walks through the home, pouring herself a cup of water and looks carefully for any sign of you, or Erwin, before stopping short of the closed basement door.

She can hear some noise - a television show, and some small, low voices, which causes her to open the door and begin heading down to the dimly lit room. Marie didn't really know what to expect but, seeing the pair of you on a cramped mattress, with a spread of paper food boxes and folded tissues between you both, Erwin in joggers and you - still in the clothes you'd left the home in last night, was not it.

"Oh, Erwin, you're here," he isn't unwelcome, but the suspicion and surprise undercurrents her tone as she raised a brow at the pair of you. 

"Marie," he acknowledges, not remotely bothered or even _caught-out_ seeming, rather, he coolly wipes his lips on a tissue that he throws into his now-empty box, and calmly gets off of the bed. 

"I hate to interrupt," _whatever's going on here_ \- Marie thinks, with some suspicion. "But could I borrow you for a moment?".

You, however, catch Marie's tone and roll your eyes from the bed, giving what can only be described as a look of extreme annoyance.

"Don't have a crap attack Ma, I kinda forced Mister S to hang out," you sigh, stretching your tired arms out and settling into an innocent sort of look. Marie isn't remotely swayed by it, but she doesn't seem angry, just a little apprehensive over the scene she'd walked into.

"I am not having a _'crap attack'_ young lady, I'm just surprised," a note of amusement wheedles into her voice as her severe expression changes to a more playful one, looking over at Erwin. "You're not the usual riffraff I'm kicking out of her room. Thank you for picking her up, Nile can't always get away from work," - to which Erwin just shrugs it off.

"I was in the neighbourhood, she wasn't too far away," he looks over at you with a sort of unreadable expression, watching you picking at some of the vegetable sides he'd ordered. "I'd rather you not be in that sort of position again. If you need help, just ask," he's certain that you'd have his number now, from that little impromptu group chat.

"Thanks Mister S," you're a little wide-eyed at how the blond seemingly isn't bothered at all by Marie's suspicious tones earlier, or what being perched on your bed, so close to you, looked like. Either he really doesn't seem to care, which you doubt, or he's so utterly upright with his morals that Marie's wary tone didn't even register with him, which is probably more accurate.

Marie leads the blond out, who quickly grabs his phone - as he may have overstayed his welcome - and follows the older woman out. Marie doesn't voice her concerns over what she walked in on, because in truth, you're well into being an adult, and she hadn't necessarily encountered anything untoward as much as it was just a little strange.

"You should probably have a talk with her," Erwin recommends, silently proving to Marie that he has, in fact, not registered the oddness of the situation - or cared for it, and in fact, just seemed to be concerned overall. 

He explains himself well enough - you had a rough night, and you'd asked him not to leave, despite him pressing to have a friend come over.

"She told me she doesn't have any that Nile would like over," Erwin said. 

"That is... probably true," Marie admitted, but the truth of it is, she doesn't think there really is anybody that you hang around with that you'd seek comfort with. You don't really talk to anybody over the phone or the internet that she can hear really listening to you. It's usually boys - admittedly, and you planning events, or taking work calls. With the exception of the permanently contracted staff at the studio, like Danny, she doesn't really think you hang out consistently with friends - and Nile loathes Danny as much as she does, so it's not a shocker. It is, however, a little sad with this context though, because if you don't have anybody you'd consider a true friend, even after going on tour at WipeOut! - how are you ever happy?

"She's mostly working, partying with boys or going out to the club with people from her work, and some of them are bit on the rough side," Marie sighs, before folding her arms under her chest, looking up at Erwin with a calculating look.

"Thank you for offering to watch out for her - but she's a bit," she pauses, she falters - and in truth, doesn't know how to begin to phrase the years of difficulty and struggle they'd had with getting you to stay in one place, and have a stable pattern.

"Difficult," - and she levels him with a _look_ \- because he needs to know exactly what he's getting into, or he needs to step back and stay back.

"She doesn't seem so bad," Erwin says, his face - forever unreadable, but he's trying to gauge what Marie is trying to tell him, without saying it in words - because it feels like she's trying to imply something, but he isn't sure what.

_Just you wait,_ Marie thinks - _I've seen that look on her face before._

The innocent, butter-wouldn't-melt look when you're precisely anything but.

_You're in for a world of trouble, Erwin._

**Author's Note:**

> [[[[ ///if anyone's curious, 916frosty is the sort of sound Asher produces [I recommend "Enough" as a good song example] and is part of the sphere she's in I guess. Anyone R&R if you liked this garbage fire. It's only getting worse. Lowkey also using this to work through some... stuff?? ig??? who needs therapy.... anyway enjoy & bare in mind the tags thnx]]]]


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